Post by zoe caitlyn crane on Mar 18, 2015 20:38:39 GMT -5
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ZOE CAITLYN CRANE
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music is your life. you live and you breathe music, for music, with music. you do a lot to see the bands you love, you spend a lot of money, you spend a lot of time. you meet people because of music, you make friends. you find happiness in music, meaning in the words, serenity in the instruments. you play music though you are no professional. you got your first (and only) guitar when you were fourteen, it is now six years old and you have never loved anything more. playing familiar songs give you joy, you love the way it feels in your small hands, you love the way it sounds when you recreate those familiar sounds. sometimes you play for others, sometimes you sit in a coffee house and play for others, sometimes you sit in a room and play for your friends, sometimes you sit in your room and play for yourself. people say that you are good and that makes you smile, but you always have doubts about your abilities. in the end you pick up your guitar or press play on your ipod and those worries start to vanish.
you tell people that you don't care what they think. you lie. you haven't always cared what people thought, when you were a child you didn't care, but then what child does. as you grew you realised that people judged and you realised that you cared when they judged you. you tried not to care, you tried to do what you wanted to do, you tried to wear what you wanted to wear without worrying what people thought, but you couldn't. you want people to think that you don't care so you go ahead and wear the things you want to wear and you do the things you want to do (to an extent) to prove that, but you are almost always worrying that the woman at the bus stop or the man at the grocery store is judging you, that they are telling themselves that they're glad that you aren't their daughter. you always worry, but you tell yourself that you won't.
you feel alone more often than not. not physically but emotionally. you feel that you don't have anyone to talk to when you are well aware that you do. you don't want to be a bother so you keep most things to yourself until you just can't anymore. you've felt this way for years, since you were young and the other kids were mean to you. when they started to push you around and you went to certain adults and they told you to ignore them, you couldn't help but wonder how you were meant to ignore it when someone pushed you to the ground but you tried. you failed. you tried to turn to others but they joined in with the others in their mission to make your life inhospitable. they drove you away, they drove you into a dark cave where your only friend was yourself. soon you were less of a friend and more of a threat to yourself. you were twelve when you first intentionally hurt yourself. you still aren't sure why you did it, you aren't sure whether it was because you the other kids put it in your head that you deserved it or because you weren't sure you could feel any more. whatever the reason, you continued to do it. you wanted to stop but it was an addiction that you couldn't shake, one that you felt you had to hide. you hid it well until your mother saw the marks on your arms when you were thirteen. she made you see a therapist. you didn't like therapy, you still don't like therapy.
you were thirteen when you first had them. you didn't want to but your mother and the therapist told you that they'd make you better. you didn't believe them but you didn't want to argue, you never like to argue. they made you feel sick the first time you took them, you were told that would happen, you didn't like it. you wanted to stop taking them, but you didn't. you had them for almost two years before you wondered what would happen if you took all of them. you wanted to know, you hoped that the whole box would end the emptiness. you were fifteen. it would have ended something if your mother hadn't found you on your bedroom floor and taken you to the hospital. they were taken away from you. five weeks later you intentionally hurt yourself too much, again your mother found you and took you to the hospital. similar happenings occurred when you were sixteen, eighteen and most recently six months ago. for you it is near uncontrollable, you can't think of any other means of escape for the emptiness. sometimes the drugs make you feel better. sometimes.
you are shy, timid, awkward, quiet, not so confident. in certain company though you can be none of those, or only one or two of those. you can also be happy in said company. said company can make you smile, said company can make you feel like things are better, like things will stay better, like you don't need the extra help you are getting. you love your friends, you love your mother, you're father a little less but there is some love there. there is little love held for your sister, but you can pretend, you are twins after all. she is a lot different to you though, a lot different. you try not to think about her, she isn't a nice person, at least you don't think so. you don't let her bring you down though, at least not when she's around. though it doesn't take a lot to bring you down, your good mood can be ruined with just a few words, or the appearance of someone you dislike. you don't hate very often but when you do you do it hard. you try to be a happy person, you don't like it when people ask you if you're okay. but you really do, maybe they care.
a praise chorus
"now all i need is just to hear a song i know"
music is your life. you live and you breathe music, for music, with music. you do a lot to see the bands you love, you spend a lot of money, you spend a lot of time. you meet people because of music, you make friends. you find happiness in music, meaning in the words, serenity in the instruments. you play music though you are no professional. you got your first (and only) guitar when you were fourteen, it is now six years old and you have never loved anything more. playing familiar songs give you joy, you love the way it feels in your small hands, you love the way it sounds when you recreate those familiar sounds. sometimes you play for others, sometimes you sit in a coffee house and play for others, sometimes you sit in a room and play for your friends, sometimes you sit in your room and play for yourself. people say that you are good and that makes you smile, but you always have doubts about your abilities. in the end you pick up your guitar or press play on your ipod and those worries start to vanish.
here you me
"what would you think of me now"
you tell people that you don't care what they think. you lie. you haven't always cared what people thought, when you were a child you didn't care, but then what child does. as you grew you realised that people judged and you realised that you cared when they judged you. you tried not to care, you tried to do what you wanted to do, you tried to wear what you wanted to wear without worrying what people thought, but you couldn't. you want people to think that you don't care so you go ahead and wear the things you want to wear and you do the things you want to do (to an extent) to prove that, but you are almost always worrying that the woman at the bus stop or the man at the grocery store is judging you, that they are telling themselves that they're glad that you aren't their daughter. you always worry, but you tell yourself that you won't.
kill
"it's just like being alone"
you feel alone more often than not. not physically but emotionally. you feel that you don't have anyone to talk to when you are well aware that you do. you don't want to be a bother so you keep most things to yourself until you just can't anymore. you've felt this way for years, since you were young and the other kids were mean to you. when they started to push you around and you went to certain adults and they told you to ignore them, you couldn't help but wonder how you were meant to ignore it when someone pushed you to the ground but you tried. you failed. you tried to turn to others but they joined in with the others in their mission to make your life inhospitable. they drove you away, they drove you into a dark cave where your only friend was yourself. soon you were less of a friend and more of a threat to yourself. you were twelve when you first intentionally hurt yourself. you still aren't sure why you did it, you aren't sure whether it was because you the other kids put it in your head that you deserved it or because you weren't sure you could feel any more. whatever the reason, you continued to do it. you wanted to stop but it was an addiction that you couldn't shake, one that you felt you had to hide. you hid it well until your mother saw the marks on your arms when you were thirteen. she made you see a therapist. you didn't like therapy, you still don't like therapy.
the drugs or me
"you can't save me this time"
you were thirteen when you first had them. you didn't want to but your mother and the therapist told you that they'd make you better. you didn't believe them but you didn't want to argue, you never like to argue. they made you feel sick the first time you took them, you were told that would happen, you didn't like it. you wanted to stop taking them, but you didn't. you had them for almost two years before you wondered what would happen if you took all of them. you wanted to know, you hoped that the whole box would end the emptiness. you were fifteen. it would have ended something if your mother hadn't found you on your bedroom floor and taken you to the hospital. they were taken away from you. five weeks later you intentionally hurt yourself too much, again your mother found you and took you to the hospital. similar happenings occurred when you were sixteen, eighteen and most recently six months ago. for you it is near uncontrollable, you can't think of any other means of escape for the emptiness. sometimes the drugs make you feel better. sometimes.
chase this light
"it's alive and somewhere for us to find"
you are shy, timid, awkward, quiet, not so confident. in certain company though you can be none of those, or only one or two of those. you can also be happy in said company. said company can make you smile, said company can make you feel like things are better, like things will stay better, like you don't need the extra help you are getting. you love your friends, you love your mother, you're father a little less but there is some love there. there is little love held for your sister, but you can pretend, you are twins after all. she is a lot different to you though, a lot different. you try not to think about her, she isn't a nice person, at least you don't think so. you don't let her bring you down though, at least not when she's around. though it doesn't take a lot to bring you down, your good mood can be ruined with just a few words, or the appearance of someone you dislike. you don't hate very often but when you do you do it hard. you try to be a happy person, you don't like it when people ask you if you're okay. but you really do, maybe they care.
HAYLEY WILLIAMS - LOCAL - WRITTEN BY HAYLEY